Sobriquet
by gryffindormischief
Summary: Harry has learned to cope with most aspects of 'fame', and Ginny has learned to deal with his coping.


A/N: a gift for diva-gonzo based on a prompt I wrote for myself from that "send me a fic title" thing. Hopefully it's not breaking rules to rename it from the ask game, but "Couple Names" is two words and I have a _thing_ that I've managed to keep up for like 117 fics haha.

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"I have to say, the press may be the worst thing Riddle ever inflicted on me," Harry groans, slamming the door shut behind him and letting his head fall back with a thud.

Ginny snorts, darting her eyes up before continuing her snipping at the twigs of her broom, dressing gown wrapped loosely around her middle. "I s'pose my career choices don't help much."

Toeing off his boots, Harry hangs his cloak by the door and slumps into the kitchen, dropping into the chair across from Ginny's as he loosens the first few buttons of his shirt. And enjoying it a little too much when Ginny's gaze lingers on his exposed chest. He smirks but resists going further with his teasing to address her concern – however lighthearted her presentation of it was. "Being billed as Quidditch star Ginny Weasley's husband is the highlight of my week."

She sends him a sidelong glance but resumes her broom care, tucking her clippers away and pulling the wax from her kit. "So I take it that's not what happened in that," she gestures to the magazine he tossed on the table, "today? I thought we were going to ignore that stuff."

Harry flicks through the pages until he finds the one he's looking for, slightly crinkled, and twists it toward Ginny, "It's hard to ignore when half the office shows up with copies and asks me to sign them.

"Did you?"

"Only the one Mason slipped in with my paperwork," Harry mutters, "I really should read that shite more closely."

After packing her things away, Ginny rounds the table and runs her fingers through Harry's hair, scratching at his scalp. "I should sign it too next time I drop by."

Laughing, Harry lets his head drop back against her middle, grinning up at her. "Did you actually read the article?"

"Don't have to sniff shite to know it smells."

He folds back the pages until he finds what he's looking for and lifts it before her face, prodding the shiny paper. Ginny snatches it from his grip and skims the text, the usual drivel until, "Hinny?"

Harry harrumphs, "Yeah, apparently it's a 'ship name' to make referencing us easier."

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Ginny sighs, "They didn't seem to struggle with it too much before."

"They should've used 'Garry' – at least that's a _name_ ," Harry muses, finishing the rest of his buttons so Ginny's hands can slide down his chest unencumbered. Which they do – and he almost loses the thread of their conversation as Ginny nips at his ear. Until she murmurs, " _Almost_."

Guiding her around in front as he scoots his chair back, Harry tugs her into his lap – with little resistance – and works that place behind her ear that makes her toes curl. As Ginny's head drops back and her hands grab his shoulders, Harry murmurs, "Closer to a real name than _Hinny_ – and puts us in alphabetical _and_ earned fame order."

"Much as I enjoy our witty banter," Ginny starts, and Harry cuts her off, pressing his lips against hers hotly, "Table it?"

She slips from his lap and grins at him with kiss swollen lips, "We are one mind – kids are with Mum."

And the matter drops for a few days, mainly the result of incompatible schedules followed up by a surprise twenty-four hour assignment that has Harry slogging through dense forest where the earthy green twins of legend allegedly reappeared _and_ have acquired a blood lust previously unheard of. In the end, it was twenty-two hours of said slogging, followed by not even a half hour of tailing their suspects, and the remaining time spent discovering their 'lead' was a prank gone awry, calling the DMLE in, and rinsing the misery off in the showers off the training rooms at the ministry.

Fighting back the slump in his shoulders as he floos home, Harry readies himself for the onslaught of three little bodies of graduated sizes to grip his calves, knees, and middle respectively. And despite the weariness in his bones, there's always that warmth in his chest that his _family_ is waiting for him.

But he arrives to an empty room, wireless playing low like usual, a single lamp lit and bathing the room in a steady glow. Still, it's too early for the kids to be asleep or simply this quiet, and Ginny is never silent for long –

Ears perking, Harry loosens his robes and makes his way toward the front room, stripping down to his pants and undershirt in record time and behaving in an uncharacteristically sloppy way as he leaves his things in a haphazard pile. He wanders into the kitchen in search of a cool glass of – something he hasn't decided on yet – only to find Ginny working at the stove, muggle headphones (gifted from Hermione) large and round over her ears as she tosses her head back and forth, stirring the pot in front of her. As Ginny sways her body, Harry's eyes are almost involuntarily drawn to her twisting hips as the overlarge t-shirt lying loose over her frame shifts to reveal her freckled thighs as her muscles tense and release with her movements.

Harry leans against the doorjamb just as Ginny twists to grab the pepper grinder from the sideboard and she jolts, turning to face him and nearly upending the pan – catching it at the last moment with still quick reflexes, honed by Quidditch and kept up by chasing too fast childish hands.

Ginny pulls the headphones down around her neck and flicks her wand to lower the flame on the stove as she turns to face Harry fully. "Alright?"

Flicking his brows up, Harry saunters closer, "Better now. Kids?"

"With Hermione and Ron."

After exchanging a heated glance, Harry flicks his wand toward the stove, shutting it off entirely despite Ginny's protests, and lets his hands slide down to her hips where the t-shirt brushes her skin. Which is when his eyes finally fully examine the top Ginny's wearing – "What the bloody buggering hell?"

"I know I'm a bit slobby at the moment but jeeze Harry," Ginny teases, tugging his hair free of the tie so his damp, messy locks brush along his shoulders.

He lets out a moan at her ministrations before refocusing on his realization, and sending a meaningful glance toward her chest.

"You knew what boobs you were getting when you signed up, mate – and anything different is because of the three wailing minis _you_ sired," Ginny drawls, prodding his muscled chest.

"Stop trying to change the subject, _traitor_."

Ginny kisses his scruffy jawline, "Don't be jealous – "

"'m not," Harry sighs.

" – 'cause I got you one too," and she's smirking at him, a victorious flush on her cheeks as she leans around him and gestures toward a messily wrapped package on the kitchen table, "Happy Anniversary."

"Shite Gin I thought – "

Snickering, Ginny saunters over to the table and tosses the gift at his chest, "S'not for a week."

Letting out a held breath, Harry throws it on the bit of clear countertop and backs Ginny against the fridge, sending a few of the rainbow of childish drawings held up by magnets clattering to the floor. Ginny's eyes widen as Harry's darken and he presses his lips to hers, "Can't get a gift without giving one."

"You haven't even _opened_ it, let alone put it on," Ginny finally answers, breathy against his neck.

Harry nips at her thudding pulse point and practically growls, "I'm _not_ putting that on – and you're taking _this,_ " he works the hem up to her ribcage, "off."


End file.
